Secret School
by Raven-Padfoot-Marauder
Summary: After losing inspiration, Morton decides to study High Schoolers for his next project...and he stalks them to find his plot. How far will he go to get his story and when he has...does it prove he's truly mad?
1. Leaving Town

SUMMARY: What if Morton, after losing inspiration for novels, began a hunt for a new theme. He begins to stalk school students, finding out the story of their lives to fit into his new twisted story. But something happens...of course. Read to find out! R/R!  
  
Disclaimer: I, unfortunately, do not own Morton *sigh* or the story, but I DO own the plot and most of the characters!  
  
Gloomy were the only words that could correctly define that night. Far up towards the top of the water and a bit over stood a cabin. Surrounded by trees, this cabin gave off the image of a wide space country area. No one would possibly think that this was in New York. Now, then...there is also the owner of such cabin.  
"Great...just perfect!" Morton exclaimed, quickly tossing aside the oven mitt as he got a scorch mark from the hot steam coming from the top of his kettle filled with corn. The stove hissed in protest as water hit the hot metal on the top. Quickly sticking his hand under the faucet, he ran cool water over his wound, wincing slightly as felt it go over the red skin.  
That was when he heard the car pull in the driveway. Turning his head slightly, he watched as it slowly began to drizzle outside and a figure in a black and white outfit slowly made it's way up to the top of the steps on his porch, then passed up to the door and knocked, the person's face concealed by the small curtain on the door.  
"Brilliant, what a perfect addition to such a lovely day," Morton rolled his eyes as he made his way to the door, quickly grabbing a rolling pin on the counter.  
Whipping open the door, he could barely make out the man...that much he could tell...through the now downpour of constant rain. But even so, he knew enough to figure it out. Tossing his rolling pin into a corner unnoticed, he looked at the man.  
"Well, hello there, Sheriff Dave," he nodded. Inside his head muttered, 'Ahh, fuck me.'  
"Yes, I thought I'd pay you a visit here, now. We've been doing some figuring and we're sure that we know now where you have indeed put those bodies," Dave told him, a smile playing on his lips. "We will find them, and we will get you."  
"But as of now, you have no proof as to what I could have done, now do you?" Morton asked, raising an eyebrow in question. "So you just pretty much came to tell me that you still have no clue about a thing that has happened, yet everyone is just going to continuously accuse me of crimes no one is yet sure that I have committed."  
"Oh, we're sure. Sure enough, that is," Dave answered. "We just have to abide by the law...innocent until proven guilty. We're positive you're guilty, but you see...no one has proof that we have proof towards it, you get what I'm saying?"  
"Clear as Root Beer," Morton made a grim, quick as a flash, smile.  
"You do realize, the smarter you get with me the more I have towards my own mind that you are indeed at fault."  
"Well, then...I'll just have to dumb myself down a bit, won't I?" Morton asked, standing up a bit taller and then cracking his jaw by opening and shifting it.  
"Indeed," the sheriff replied. "Well, then...just thought I'd let you know, then. I'll be seeing you again shortly, no doubt. Most likely behind bars," he added as an after thought. "Good day."  
With that, he walked out only to get an even larger spout of rain to soak him as he attempted a run to the vehicle.  
"Good day my ass," Morton muttered, and pretended to shoot Dave as he had so long ago to his Mrs. Garvey, his old housekeeper, with her complete idiocy.  
As he watched Dave slowly drive out of the driveway, he waited until he was out of complete view.  
'Bugger this,' his mind told him as he quickly ran through his house and tossed down a bag and quickly began to throw a scramble of things after it, such as his favorite pillows, bedroom robe, a bunch of bundles of papers, razors, and bags of chips from various nicks and crannies around the upstairs as everything went flying off the little loft and landed either on or around the bag with amazing accuracy.  
"Gotta get out of here...come on, faster!" he mumbled to himself as he raced back down and grabbed an arms load of corn and let it drop in an assorted order, and a few rolled into random places, such as under the couch and some ricocheting off of the rug and table.  
"Why won't it all fit?" he demanded, exasperated. He was busy fumbling with the bag, trying to cram almost everything, including his computer, into the small sports bag. Finally giving up, he put everything except the computer, two pillows, and the corn in the bag, and he ran it out to his vehicle, throwing it into the back. The raining had stopped, but water was drizzling from the trees and the ground was extremely soft. Then he began to run towards the house when he came to an abrupt stop.  
'Of course, can't forget that,' his mind urged, and he agreed. Speeding as quickly as lightning, he grabbed the shovel...his tool. The object of his dirtiest work. He held it as though it was an idol and walked it over to the truck and tossed it in as well, not wanting to forget it. Then he turned to return to the rest of his items.  
He yanked open the door, and that was when his mind began to race. He could hear another voice in his head yelling, 'No...I did not do this. This isn't me.'  
"Oh SHUT UP!" Morton screamed. "I don't need to hear from you! This is me...the real me!"  
'No it's not!' came another voice. 'I didn't do this, you did. And you are not going to bring me down with you. Just give up...let me come back!'  
"I will not!" Morton yelled back. "I have worked too hard...for too long. I am not going back in!"  
Then there was nothing but silence. The old Morton had given up...for now. To the big bad John Shooter.  
"Yeah, that's right...just shut your trap and we'll be getting along just bloody peachy, alright? I'll even add damn cottage cheese to the peaches if you stay quit long enough," Morton murmured as he huddled to the floor, picking up his computer and two pillows on top of it. He would come back for the corn on his next trip.  
  
Finally, he was done. The bags, the corn, and the shovel...everything was stowed away and ready. It was time to break free.  
"That's it...I'm so gone. Yeah, that's right. Next time he sees me I'm behind bars...right, in his dreams," Morton spent his time talking to himself, shifting the rearview mirror and adjusting the seating. He was ready for the ride of his life.  
"And everyone out for a ride needs some music," he grinned to himself as he turned on the station.  
Over the speakers blared, much to the dislike of Morton, 'Bye, Bye, Bye', by N*Sync.  
"Oh no no no!!!!" he yelled right when they said "Bye, bye, bye."  
'Fucker,' a voice in his head called out.  
"That's it," Morton said, frustrated as he began to switch the stations and it landed on 'Born to be Wild'. "No cottage cheese for you."  
  
After a couple hours, Morton stopped at a small looking town...or atleast small for New York. Looking at the sign, it read, 'Auburndale Population-3,967.'  
"PERFECT! My day just keeps getting better," Morton said triumphantly, no sarcasm at all.  
He slowly drove through the town until he stopped at a run down motel, which was across from a five-star hotel, a Plaza.  
"Well...beggars can't be choosers. And how many know that better than me?" he asked himself as he slowly walked into the small front of the Motel and strode up to what looked to be either the manager or the person in charge.  
"Hi, I'm planning on staying here for a while. Could you find me a decent room that may be open for a while?" he asked hopefully, leaning casually on the desk.  
"Why...let me check here. Yes, in fact there seems to be an entirely unbooked room, number six. Any idea on how long you'll be here?" the man at the desk answered. He had on a nametag that said, "Hello, my name is Mark. How may I help you?"  
"Until I find a place to say. I'm actually thinking about settling in for a while if I like it well enough," Morton shrugged and looked closer at the tag, "er...Mark."  
"Alright, then. You just need to sign and fill out these forms, then you can pay upfront, if it's alright with you, and then get the keys," Mark told him.  
Morton nodded and heaved a sigh, "Ok, where's the paperwork?"  
"Right here, sir," Mark replied, picking up a clipboard with a pen attached and slowly passed it over to him.  
"Sir is just so...so formal. Just call me Morton, or Shooter if you please," Morton grinned creepily.  
"Er...right. Well, I'll be right over here, just call me when you're ready," Mark said awkwardly and took off to the cash register and began working on the till.  
Soon enough Morton was done signing...changing his name a bit to Morton Shooter...and then he filled out a check and waited silently as Mark ran it through the usual process, strumming his fingers on the desk.  
When they were finally done, and after he got the keys, Morton towards the door, realizing that it was once again raining.  
"Goodbye, Marky!" he called over his shoulder as he stepped out the door. Cold, icy water rushed over his face as he slowly screwed his eyes so he could concentrate on finding his door number while he tried to think up a topic for his next novel when he felt something slam into his side. Going into defensive mode and, quick as a flash, he had turned around and was face to face with a teenaged girl, even though she was sprawled on the ground.  
"Sorry!" she gasped to him as she picked herself up and raced off towards a door not too far from where he stood. Before she even reached the handle, it swung open and the girl seemed to be trying to say something before a hand reached out and grabbed her roughly, bringing her into the room.  
"Ok..." Morton said softly before shaking it out of his mind. He continued looking around for his number when he noticed number six was just one away from where the girl had gone in. When he got into the room, he immediately smelled a rush of moldy fabric and he shrugged. He was used to it by now.  
That's when it hit him.  
"I've got it!" he said, ignoring the thumps against the wall from the other room. "Perfect...wonderful for my story! Children...no students...no, teenagers. The horror of teenagers," Morton grinned triumphantly, happy with his knew found idea.  
  
A/N: Alright, then...what do you guys think so far? I just watched Secret Window today, so I'm just beginning this. I know the first chapter is dull...but it had to be done. I'm still figuring out the plot, but it will eventually come to me. R/R, please! Also...if you will...please read my other stories. Especially if you like the following: Harry Potter, Pirates of the Caribbean, or The Lost Boys. I have never gotten a bad review yet, but also there aren't that many either. But as I've seen not many people like the Lost Boys, I expected that. But I need to watch it again for more inspiration, but I'm gonna wait till I get far in this story, or I'm gonna have to wait till the movie comes out for me to think up good plot! 


	2. Story Begins

Chapter Two: Beginning the Story  
  
Ok...I've got to get these chapters out before I lose my ideas. Here's my second chapter...doing it when I SHOULD be working on a school project, but oh well. I'm REALLY enjoying writing this story so far, and that is very rare. I usually just find a plot and am forced to finish it by my friends...*wink wink* but this one I really don't mind putting details into, so please let me know if you like it! Like they said at...I think it was the Grand Ole Oprey...if you like it, let us know! And if you don't, shut up...lol. I loved that, I don't mind flames, but remember...I DO have feelings, too.  
  
Brilliant. It was just completely brilliant. But was it good enough? And could he get away with it?  
Morton had spent that whole night pondering these two questions. He knew that it would be perfect, that's true...but how could he pull it off. He'd have to go through city records, a new driver's license. He would most likely spending months on this project, if he could actually successfully get himself into a government building with time to spare in order to convince a school that he could actually be fit to be hired for some kind of position.  
Inwardly, he sighed. His whole plot was most definitely not going as he had planned it to be. There was just no angle...sure, a story about teenaged High Schoolers. Normal. But the more he got around to thinking about it, he figured it out. The perfect plot that would cause the story to flash in lights.  
The horror of school students being stalked...the parents wouldn't believe it. No matter what, they would just think that they had come up with their own "universal" plot that could most likely create attention for the big finish. It would show the pain of parents that didn't believe them...oh, this was it. He had figured out his plot...and he was ready to start it. Grabbing his coat swiftly off of the one wooden chair, the only suitable thing to sit on besides the toilet...and that was including the bed. Soon after the coat was comfortably on him, he managed to make a nab for his keys to his truck, which made him think that now that he was most likely being searched for, he'd need a new vehicle with a new license plate, one with total uniqueness...maybe even a personalized one. He shook his head, he was even starting to act like teenagers, when they're getting their first vehicle and they figure they will manage to have the correct amount of money to be able to get a red mustang convertible, if not a Ferrari, and then get a completely outstandingly cool personalized license plate, one that would make everyone turn heads at...not even thinking about the possibility that there just might be someone out there who had the same exact idea and had managed to nab it just a bit before them.  
As he whipped open his door more gently that he would have with his old on (last night he had discovered that it was rather rickety, and he didn't want to have to go off and purchase a completely new one for a damn run-down hotel that wasn't worth the fucking 300 dollars a week), he shifted his unzipped coat up a bit, ready for any wind or rain, but discovered rather quickly that the weather had improved quite nicely from the night before. Sure, there were puddles of mud everywhere, and damp sand in mounds in the corners where, no doubt, come summer there would be a cloud of ants just crawling about.  
After his small criminal life, he had discovered that even the smallest details mattered...in order to be a good writer, you had to have good description. Without good description, it wasn't good writing. And of course, there could be no bad writing.  
His shoes made small clappy noises as he passed the door he had seen opened the other night...it was number 7. Inside he heard some yelling and he couldn't help but think about sibling rivalry, and who could blame them? What could they possibly do in such a small room with no cable besides argue?  
Opening up the door to his old beater...or atleast that was what it was now, after passing over all the roads...he jumped in and quickly shut the door. Starting the engine, he slowly began to gun it before he took off, a blur of wet dirt shooting out from behind him as his tires spun uncontrollably, and he headed out for town...or atleast closer to the middle of it.  
  
After an eternity of driving, he hadn't seemed to have gained any ground, figuratively speaking. Sure, he had searched through the majority of the town, but he knew it had to be somewhere. That's when he decided to look at the obvious. He drove out onto a simple hill...it wasn't too big. It was crowded entirely with trees and little old parks which he figured would be taken out soon enough to put in some mall or another knew-time "necessity".  
When he reached the top, he got out of the truck and look, but didn't see anything. Sighing, he leaned into the truck, and before he could get back in, he had a sudden thought. He turned back around and jumped straight onto the hood, then the top of the car. Straining his neck, he discovered a completely obvious clue to where the town hall was.  
It was the local clock tower.  
Completely satisfied with his new find, he jumped off in one swoop, yet a graceful and manly jump...he hadn't lost his mind, only his personality. As he grabbed a hold of the handle, he pulled open the door and threw himself inside. This was his break...it was sheer luck. He was going to get his story, and the kids would get their destiny...they worked together hand in hand.  
As one, destiny and triumph would work together to create the best combination in all. It made Morton completely gleeful, he couldn't think of anything better.  
While he was busy getting the truck in gear, he thought about how much of a twist this could be to his career. He would now be completely set for his future. A mixed up horror of students, ones that the teachers or parents would never believe...the tale would just be too unbelievable. And he would be there to make them sorry for their ignorance. It was almost too brilliant.  
As he slowly parked his vehicle next to the tall clock tower, he walked into the door of the building and shook his unruly hair and walked up to the clerk desk.  
"Hello, may I help you?" cheerfully asked a woman with curly, red hair that seemed as fake as her smile up in a tight professional bun. There was a portable microphone head set on her head and she had her fingers typing away on a computer and she made a slight tap as though to finish a sentence and shifted about to look up at him. He noticed immediately her fingernails looked entirely fake...there was no chance at all of them being real.  
Shaking his head foolishly as he realized that even though it might come in handy later, it wasn't that important at the moment.  
"I was wondering," he began, shifting his neck, "if you would be able to help me with some files. I recently went through a divorce and I had to take out my birth certificate, college degrees, everything. I need to know if there is a way to restore everything because, you see, my house recently was under the attack of arson, so it's all gone."  
"Yes, of course. If you could just give some proof as to you're name, we'll be able to set you right back up...but it also includes a bit of paperwork," the woman said with the complete air around her as if she had just said, 'In three years, you'll still be working on signing the papers.'  
"Alright, well...thanks. I've got my, er...old High School thing here somewhere. My license is in the car, so I'd prefer just to use this. Is that alright?" Morton asked, raising an eyebrow, his mind thinking how good it would feel just to rip the woman's head off right here and now, then take out the rest as he fought his way up to grab some files, but knowing there would be guards around the place somewhere, it just seemed more absurd.  
"Right, then. Just pass it over here for identification, and we will get you situated," the woman nodded and stuck out her hand expectantly, her perfume on her wrist entering his nostrils and making him want to sneeze but he held back.  
Inside, Morton was smiling to himself. This was brilliant, he had, in fact, been called Shooter in school and, as a request from the rest of the basketball team for a surprise for him, they had gotten him a card with Morton Shooter on it. He had always been called shooter...then for his good shots, now for another kind of trigger.  
"Here you are," he said as he pulled it out of one of his back pockets, and he handed it over to her with complete chic, and he grinned at her, winking.  
Rolling her eyes, she turned back to the computer and began to type, and while she did so, Morton pretended that he was choking her as he made an insane face, but when she turned back to him, he was normal immediately.  
"Well, sir...it seems we have a slight problem," she said as though it wasn't a big deal to her at all.  
"And that would be what, exactly?" Morton asked.  
"All you're records were lost, but I don't see why we can't just figure out what you're professions were. What exactly did you major in during you're stay in college?"  
"Er...Drama and band," he said immediately, inside he wanted to hit his head. 'Band?' he asked. 'I didn't do anything but play the bloody trombone for two years!'  
I told you to let me back it. Give me my body NOW! You're not gonna do any of this...you're not gonna touch any students.  
"And I don't really think you have much of a choice in this, now do you?" Morton asked himself sardonically.  
"Er...what was that?" the woman asked, looking curiously at him with an arched eyebrow.  
"What? Oh nothing...nothing. Just remembered a line from a movie, that's all," he shook his head, then turned to her. "What would your name be? For professional reasonings, if you will."  
"I don't see what that has to do with anything," she said warily, but after a look from him she sighed. "Karen."  
"Well, marvelous to meet you, miss Karen. I hope to be seeing you more in the future. While you get all of the rest of the things in order, would you mind setting me up with the paper work, so I can get it done as quickly as possible?" Morton asked charmingly...hoping to get in good, so he could get his things ready fast and then the rest of his fun-planned events could begin.  
"Alright, then. Just let me call down a secretary with it and you can be on your way," Karen nodded towards him, even though she rather thought he was a psycho...not unusual in this town...or atleast what she thought as psycho.  
"Thank you," Morton told her before turning. That was when he turned back again. "Should I sit down until it comes down, or will it be here fast enough so I can just stand here?"  
"You should probably sit down," Karen said hopefully before adding, "Please do so."  
"Er...right, then," Morton shrugged as he went to the seating area and took his spot in a vacant chair before he picked up a magazine entitled, "Tools."  
"How original," he rolled his eyes before dropping it back down and noticed a hunting magazine. He grabbed that and began to flip through it and he stopped a page with a nice hunting knife...just perfect were his thoughts. After looking around a bit, he ripped out the page and hoped he would remember to find it again and send in the order form.  
"Mr. Shooter?" Karen called out. "We have you're files here, you just need to fill out these papers in the next couple days and return it as soon as you're done, and by then we should be ready."  
"Yes, thank you, Miss Karen," Morton nodded. "I'll be seeing you around then."  
With that he walked out, his head pounded. It had been so long since he'd killed...and he was itching for it.  
'Calm down,' he told himself. 'There will be blood soon enough.'  
  
What do you think? R/R! Please? 


	3. Getting it Down

Chapter Three: Getting it Down  
  
Thank you to all my few, but still there, reviewers! A story writer is no good without those who read it....and of course, enjoy it! I can't believe the nice reviews I've gotten, even though they're only 5!  
  
Morton, his head pounding, had managed to go through atleast a hundred sheets of papers needed to be signed through a period of eleven hours. It was near three in the morning, yet he still wouldn't go to sleep. The stack looked like it had only thirty left...and that was good enough for him.  
'DAMNIT!' he thought to himself. He had just spent eleven hours of his precious story time writing his name and social security number over and over and over again. He had to have had atleast three Advil's, and still the pain kept striking up his temple. Taking off his glasses to wipe his eyes briefly, he quickly got up and ran over to the small refrigerator.  
Reaching inside, he grabbed a Mountain Dew and popped the tab open and took a large swallow. His stomach lurched for food, but he didn't have time to eat. Completing the paperwork was all that mattered at the moment, so for now he would have to settle with chugging down cans of caffeine.  
You're gonna get caught. There is no way you can get away with this.  
  
The voice, the one voice that belonged to the one and only true Morton, rang through his head.  
"Just leave me alone!" Morton screamed at himself. Sure, he had caused it, but that didn't mean he wanted it there. Now that he was in control, he could really do without the nifty little good-boy Morton in the back of his head, wanting to come out.  
His head went silent. He was fighting, and would never stop. Only when he was entirely distracted, like he had been a minute ago, could the old version start to come through. He had to concentrate always, had to practice. If he didn't, and he really did end up with a successful area for the kids...mainly gym, he would be alone for a while with them...and that's where the fun would begin. He could do many things to torture them...ones that didn't leave a mark.  
He sighed to himself as he figured out a problem. It would be a little tricky for him to be able to successfully jab a screwdriver or a cut off one of their heads with a shovel without someone figuring it out. So he would become the most tolerant teacher during the day, parents and staff would love him. But come night he would follow them all around, at the clubs, parties, and mall. He would be everywhere, a new kid every night. It seemed so perfect, because the parents wouldn't believe that such an outgoing and tolerable teacher could go off and stalk their kids while they sat in fear for their life.  
Morton had become extremely thoughtful and excited with the plans for his story. He raced back over to the chair and began to scribble his name on more papers in his attempt to get the papers done as fast as he possibly could.  
After a couple more minutes of his top speed scribbling, it began to slow down and came to a complete stop. Overcome with exhaustion, Morton had fallen asleep, his head sprawled on top of the last six forms left for him to fill.  
  
Waking up, Morton looked around and then stuck his fists up under his glasses so that he could rub his eyes. Realizing what he had done, he silently cursed under his breath. He had fallen asleep. He could have been done with the forms, but now that his hand had had a chance to cramp up, he had six forms left. Sure, the accomplishment was nice, but the muscles in his right wrist were so horrible, he felt as though he couldn't continue writing, but he knew he had to. For the story.  
  
Morton, having finally completed every single form, ran out...practically skipping...to his truck. It was unbelieveable, the accomplished feeling it gave him. Soon all of those unknowing students would find themselves under the terror of their lives.  
Sure, he wanted to make them feel good for his story, but that wouldn't work out. They needed to be in complete peril for the story to work...cause even the ending be a mystery to himself. That's what the outcome would be, and to him the idea seemed unbelievably...perfect.  
Finding the city hall seemed much quicker than it had the other day, but he figured that was most likely because he actually knew exactly where it was, compared to the yesterday's endless search of not even knowing where in the world it was.  
Figuring that they would most likely not even be close to getting his things together, he walked in to talk to a more official looking person, not some any-old kind of person who has quite a large attitude. Opening up the door, he walked in to discover that the woman wasn't at the desk, anyways. Walking up to the new blonde woman, he asked quite suavely, "Hi, I'm Morton, Morton Shooter. Do you happen to know anything about the recovering of my old files?"  
"I'm sorry, but I wouldn't know such things. You would probably have to contact the person you talked to last time...assuming you have indeed contacted us. Do you happen to have a name?" the woman asked, tapping her red polished fingernails onto the wooden/marblish counter.  
"Yes...er...it was Karen, I believe," Morton said slowly.  
The woman at the desk raised her eyebrows. "If you can't remember the name, perhaps you best just restart your story with me."  
"NO! It was Karen, I'm...I'm positive," he declared, a bit forcefully.  
"Alright then, sir. Can you just wait there while I contact her?" she asked and, without waiting, picked up a phone and punching in some numbers.  
"Why of course not...your majesty," Morton muttered, repressing the urge to rip out her vocal cords. Her voice reminded him endlessly of the Nanny, except maybe a bit less screechy...but it was higher, so that wasn't entirely a plus.  
After a couple of minutes with the occasionally 'I know, isn't she? And oh my god, he didn't!'s she finally got off the phone and turned to him.  
"She's being paged down immediately and will be here with you shortly," she said as though it didn't matter at all and turned around in her chair, continuing with her computer.  
Morton just glared at her, and if looks could kill...there would be a lot of screaming and paramedics would be coming in to take out the body of a now deceased businesswoman.  
Sighing as he waited for the other woman of his annoyance to make her appearance, he leaned against the counter, his elbows lying on it and he facing the other direction.  
"Could you please not do that, sir?" asked the blonde woman without looking at him.  
"Touchy, touchy," he rolled his eyes and turned around in time to hear the clicking of heeled shoes on marble-tiled flooring. Looking towards the staircase it was coming from, he immediately recognized Karen.  
"Back so soon?" she asked him, obvious not pleased.  
"I like to get my work done and out of the way," he answered back to her, shrugging.  
"Right, well, anyways. I have talked to a couple of officials, and they should have it all completed by the end of today, that is, of course...if you have completely filled out all of the paperwork," Karen said curtly, as though it was some sort of trick question.  
"Well, yeah. Why, may I ask you, would I come back if I wasn't finished?" Morton pointed out this completely logical fact.  
"Like I know the mind of a male. Anyways, if you just come with me to one of our filing rooms, we can work on completing it there," she told him, looking at him expectantly.  
"Alright, then," he nodded. "Sooner we get it done, the better it is for me."  
As swiftly as she could, Karen walked up the stairs with Morton at her heels. After they had completed the staircase, she directed him through endless halls filled with doors that were labeled with numbers that ranged from the six to nine hundreds.  
"Are we there yet?" Morton's smart ass side couldn't resist.  
Karen rolled her eyes. "And you finished college with a degree?" she asked sarcastically.  
"Oh, don't be fooled. I have brains up there somewhere," he smirked, giving her a wink. "It's just taking me a bit to find it."  
"Well, once you have, stop acting like such a prick," she shot back at him without thinking about their 'kindness to customer' policy.  
"Oooooh...grouchy. I know what that's like..." Morton turned his head and whispered, "PMSing..."  
"I am not and I kindly suggest you refrain from making such comments," she said as she stopped at a door and turned the knob. After she stepped inside and waited for Morton, he couldn't help but shout like Jim Carrey most likely would, "In denial!"  
  
Finally back inside the small motel room, Morton took his keys and flung them on top of a pile of dirty laundry and pulled out a little card that was in his back pocket. Grabbing the phone next to his bed as he hopped onto it, he dialed the number to the local school.  
After a couple of rings, someone answered and said, "Hello, Auburndale High School. How may we help you?"  
"Hi, I'm Morton Shooter. I was wondering if you have any needs for someone who specializes in sports or band," he began, wanting to hit himself for adding the last bit. He didn't know a thing about band!  
"Well, first of all, do you have any experience in that area?" the woman asked.  
"Yes, in fact I do. I went to college and mastered in both areas, I was told to call here by a woman named Karen at the city hall."  
"Right, well, you are actually in luck. Our current gym teacher is at the moment pregnant, so we will need to replace her. She has decided she wants to move out to a more country area so she won't need to have her child grow up in the city. I think it's perfect, we can have an interview set up immediately. Does tomorrow morning sound alright?" the secretary asked him.  
"Yes, it's perfect," Morton agreed, nodding his head even though he knew she couldn't see him. He was just entirely happy that he wasn't going to have to complete anything with band. Two years really wasn't enough experience at all.  
"Alright, then. So far you seem like just the guy for the job, and the only one. In fact, you did mention that background with band, didn't you?"  
His mood immediately dropped. "Er...yes I did, why?"  
"Well...this could also help you with obtaining the job...solo and ensembles is coming up, and our music department needs help with our band area...especially brass and clarinet choir," secretary woman told him hopefully.  
There was nothing in the world that could make him want to pound his head on a concrete wall than this. How did he get himself into such a mess? Sighing heavily, he turned back to the mouthpiece.  
"No, of course. It's brilliant, I can do that," he lied, gritting his teeth.  
"Perfect! Well, see you tomorrow morning, let's say tenish?"  
"Right, perfect," Morton copied her enthusiasm, mocking her entirely but she missed it. "See you then."  
Sighing even a larger sigh, he hung up the phone on the receiver and looked back at the television, which had gone out the other day and he realized all he could do was sleep.  
"Well, until tomorrow, then," he mentally shrugged before breaking a grin. "That's when all the fun begins."  
He had big plans for the following day, he knew he would make it in. All he needed to do now was to get prepared to make a great impression and work out his plans. If he had to tutor brass and clarinet choir, then double. That would actually come in handy, he wouldn't need to play and he could listen in to hear more about those students. It was actually beginning to seem to be one of the biggest pluses of the whole plan.  
'Bingo,' he thought to himself before he drifted off to sleep, his shoes and glasses both still on.  
  
A/N: YAY! Well, the fun stuff starts either the next chapter or the one after that, it depends how it fits again. R/R! Please? 


	4. Surprise!

A/N: Sorry for the author's note for everyone who wanted a chapter. I just did it because I would like to add some people out there to the story if they would like, and I need them to fill this out. NOTE: You must be ok with things being changed in your profile and be alright with dying...most of you will, but don't worry. It just has to fit the story! Also, schedules might change and one of you will get lucky and be a member of a band in this story. You can also fill out more for a friend and that.  
  
Just fill this out, and the faster you post the faster I can continue with the story.  
  
Name: Grade: ((Freshman, Sophomore, Junior, Senior)) Age: Hair: Eyes: Character Description: 1st Hour Class: 2nd Hour Class: 3rd Hour Class: 4th Hour Class: 5th Hour Class: 6th Hour Class: ((All freshmen are Fit 4 Life)) 7th Hour Class: 8th Hour Class:  
  
Thank you to all who read and enjoy my story! Much love! 


	5. Interview

Chapter Four:  
  
Here's the fourth chapter where we start introducing some original characters! I hope you all enjoy. This chapter may be small, but I promise that the next should be longer...hopefully. I really want every chapter to be 2,000 words long, atleast, so I might make it...then you may presume to ignore this part.  
  
"Alright, this is my big chance. Don't you go and blow it for me, got it?" Morton warned himself, mainly his old self, really. It had been acting up too much for him the past couple days.  
It was the next morning and he was getting prepared for the interview. He had taken out his best clothes which weren't much more decent than his everyday ones, but it would have to do. He even had a little sample of cologne that he was currently wearing with his now neat hair.  
There he stood in the doorway of the bathroom, wearing in his favorite old robe, giving himself a pep talk. Sure, some people would say it's pretty gay, but that morning he needed it.  
"You can do this...I can do this. We can do this if you just work with me for simply one day," Morton was almost begging the kinder side of him. He really needed this job to make everything work out great, so he could really pull through the job.  
After changing into his outfit for the day, he straightened out the color of the shirt and grabbed his keys. Walking out the door, he took a deep breath...he was ready.  
  
He was finally there, and extremely proud. Mort had successfully gotten to the High School without any problems. Walking through the front door, he saw a room with class windows all around it, and he guessed that it was the office...and it ended up being a very wise "premonition" of a sort.  
Opening up the wooden door that led into that room, he walked in just in time to hear, "Would Raven Dreams, Cordelia Summers, and Chrysanthemum Johansen please come to the office?" called out over the loudspeaker.  
"Er...hi. I'm supposed to be here for an interview?" Morton called out to the secretary who had just set down the phone, which is used for the intercom.  
At first she has a puzzled look on her face, then comprehension dawned on her.  
"Yes, yes of course. I'll be with you in just a minute...have some students to attend to," she told him, her face grim.  
After a while, three girls in a group came trooping into the office, laughing. Even so, when they had taken one look at the secretary's face, they immediately changed it to one of innocence.  
"What did you want, Lauri?" a girl with long black hair in a ponytail asked.  
The secretary, apparently named Lauri, sighed deeply. "Raven, you guys now very well what you did. I don't care what the excuse was this time. You had no reason to let those lizards loose in the boys' locker room."  
"Actually, they were salamanders," Raven couldn't help but point out.  
"You know what, I think you guys have been warned enough times," she trailed off.  
"What are you going to do?" asked another girl.  
"Fear...what a name...you will all be suspended from the next games...volleyball and football," she glared intently Raven and the last girl.  
Every single one of the girls spluttered in protest.  
"But...we've got to play! It's homecoming!" Raven yelled.  
"I very well know what it is, and even though you guys may actually play starters, I don't even see myself why there should be two girls on the football team. In my day, there was no such thing as that," Lauri shook her head.  
"In her day," Morton heard the last girl hiss. "There wasn't even any football in her day, unless the dinosaurs had decided to go about kicking rocks."  
The three of them snickered.  
"What was that, Chrysanthemum?" Lauri inquired.  
Chrysanthemum groaned. "Don't call me that! It's Chrys! And all I said was that we need to play in the games. You know we keep our grades up, that's how me and Raven can balance football and volleyball! We'll do anything!"  
"Yes, anything!" Fear agreed.  
"Detention," Chrys suggested.  
"Suspension," Fear shrugged after her.  
"Lunch duty?" Raven asked, the first thing that came to her mind. ((Yes, right about now in the movies, it would flash to the three of them currently serving slop not fit for farm animals onto trays of students laughing at their hairnets when the popular guys come in and Chrys and Fear groan and glare at Raven, and she shrugs and apologizes endlessly...but this is based off of Morton's POV, so no.))  
"That sounds like a great idea," Lauri nodded in evil-like approval. "Sounds like you've got yourself a deal."  
Both of the other girls groaned and slapped their own foreheads while moaning, "Raven!"  
"Oh, don't just yell at her. I was only talking about her suggestion. You're getting them all. Two day in school suspension, a week of detention, and lunch duty for three weeks. Now will this ever happen again?" Lauri asked, lowering her glasses.  
"No, it won't," Fear sighed, rolling her eyes.  
"Good, then off you go. I'll send you with a pass, lunch hour is about to begin. Tell them the story why I pray for their safety," Lauri shuddered and waited for them to leave. When they finally had, she turned back to Morton.  
"So sorry you had to see that. I mean it...they act as though they are...what were those characters from Harry Potter?"  
"Er...Fred and George?" Morton shrugged. He had just recently read the books.  
"Yes, exactly. Well, are you ready to get started?" she asked him while he nodded in reply.  
"Alright, then come right this way. You will be speaking to the principle, Mr. Nowak. His office is right over here," she indicated a room next to them, it really wasn't far from where they stood.  
As they walked over to the door, Lauri knocked and waited till she heard a call from inside and she opened the door.  
Inside the room sat a man, looking as though he was in his mid forties, with a bald stripe down the middle of his head in a straight line.  
"Hello, you must be Mr. Shooter. I'm Mr. Nowak," Mr. Nowak said, sticking out his hand.  
Morton shook the man's hand and nodded.  
"Well, this should be good. So far I would think that you could be quite a great addition to our staff, and goodness knows we could use some shiny new faces," the principal grinned.  
Morton whispered under his breath, "You mean shiny foreheads." It looked as though Mr. Nowak had just added quite a bit of Crisco to is forehead to make it shine like that.  
"Alright, then. We'll begin with the standard test. It's just an ordinary interview, as though applying at the local deli. First of all, what instrument do you play?"  
"Er, the trombone, sir," Mort answered.  
"Good, good. And what about gym? Where did you get most of your experience from?" Mr. Nowak asked.  
"I was on the football and basketball team. I was on Varsity since Freshman year for Basketball, and sophomore year on up for football, but I did play for Varsity in my Freshman year."  
"Good, good...so, I see we've got this part through with, but before that, I must ask. How well do you get along with kids? Are you more of a, 'One more move and you're in detention,' or a coddler, just for the record."  
"Well, let's just say I'm in between, shall we?" Mort winked a little bit.  
Mr. Nowak chuckled. "Yes, of course. Now, I have seen a record of your college degrees, but I need you to sign a couple of papers."  
Before he could stop himself, Morton sighed rather loudly. He had seen enough papers with things such as Name: or Phone #:.  
Detecting that his candidate for applications was feeling quite uncomfortable about the papers that needed to be filled out, he added quickly, "Don't worry, it's only two sheets. Not much writing at all. I swear to my death on a holy grave."  
Morton sighed once again, but from relief. He could breath again and wouldn't wake up the next morning with his wrist feeling as though it had been continuously hit with a frying pan. Then it dawned on him the last part of Mr. Nowak's statement, and he couldn't help but grin. 'It would be my pleasure to help you with your promise,' he thought to himself, smirking terribly now.  
After he had managed to scribble his name and address, medicine, health problems, etc. that he had to write down, he set down the Wells Fargo pen he was using and laid the two sheets of papers neatly in front of Mr. Nowak, but after neatly shuffling them together as they should be.  
"Why, you are quite a miraculous man, all these things you've done," Mr. Nowak nodded his head, impressed.  
"Some people even say they think I have Multiple Personalities...and that with my cooking it means that one of them is a girl," he couldn't help but say. Sure, the girl part was far from true, but the rest he told straight cold hard truth.  
Mr. Nowak chuckled heartily. "Young man, you seem to act as though you would be a marvelous edition to our faculty. If you would truly be able to do all of these things you have done in the past, I assure you that you will get along just fine. All you need to do is sign a small contract, only five pages, which I daresay must have been smaller than your reapplications for your degree and birth certificate, what was that, a couple hundred pages and counting?"  
"Who told you I needed to redo my degree and birth certificate?" Morton asked suspiciously.  
"Oh, I was just called by the City Board, and they were just letting me know about the certification of your application to make sure it was authentic," Mr. Nowak waved the question aside. "Standard procedure, you understand, right?"  
"Yeah, sure," Morton shrugged before rolling his eyes slightly. This man was just too weird, even too weird for himself.  
"Alright, then. Well, here are the forms and it was nice meeting you," Mr. Nowak nodded to him, shaking his hand. "You can start working tomorrow if you have the forms completed and handed into me or Lauri, who will most likely be inside the office.  
"Yes, alright, sir. Thank you very much," Morton grinned and answered excitedly. He felt like an eight year old at Christmas, only instead of opening gifts, he was going to be destroying lives. And to him, that seemed much better.  
Picking up the papers that was left to him, he stood up and walked out of the door, nodding at Lauri who seemed to be currently tending to a boy who looked as though a ball point pen had exploded in his mouth. There was blue ink from inside his mouth dribbling down his chin onto the counter, and he saw that Lauri wasn't too happy about it.  
Walking out of the office, then back out the front doors to the parking lot, he took a deep breath of fresh air and sighed. This was one of the best days of his life. Everything was going his way. He would have his job. He would get his murders. And he would get his story. It just all work together so smoothly, and he knew that could easily and successful destroy each and every one of the children's lives, slowly but surely. It wouldn't take that long, the getting out there and doing it part. The more complicating procedure would be the whole planning area. How many ideas out there could there be on how to ruin all those teens' lives in so many different ways? Sure, if anyone could figure out, it would be him. Of course any award-winning author would be able to successfully scare the stockings off of all the teenagers in the school. Heck, all of the teenagers in the world! The only problem was that he needed to come up with a unique and horrifying way to terrorize the children. It had to be entirely different, every single one of them. If it wasn't, then what was the point? Writing about the same thing over and over again would be bad writing. And there can be no bad writing.  
  
A/N: Alright, after a small delay, there is my fourth chapter. What do you all think? I will be introducing everyone soon enough. Well, ta! R/R! 


	6. First Day

"Ok…open you stupid thing!" Mort was complaining. He had picked up a couple of frozen foods the night before so that he could have some awkwardly "decent" meals that he would manage to eat without ruining his appetite. He still had half a bag left of his precious corn and he himself was half hoping that he would be able to run back to his old place and get some more before anyone would notice he was there.

"Is there a trick to this?" he asked himself, tipping the box over to read the bottom. In bold red letters it read: 'Do not turn upside down.'

Quick as a wink, he had it back up straight.

"MORONS!" he yelled out. "You don't put those kind of instructions on the BOTTOM of the box!"

Slightly pissed at this point, he tore the box as well as he could, leaving only half of the cardboard attached, and he pulled out the small tray. Stuffing it inside the microwave, he set it for two minutes before laying on his bed to relax. Hearing the screams come once more from the neighboring room, he rolled his eyes a bit before relaxing, slowly drifting off into a slumber while his rather crappy microwave beeped, sounding the end of the meal…

---

"Kristen Bender?"

"Here."

"Raven Dreams."

"Tada."

"Chrysanthemum Johanson."

"Ugh, make that Chrys."

"Calvin Clawson?"

"Here."

"Victoria McAdam?"

"Check."

"John Princeton?"

"Yeah."

"Taylor...umm, Riley?"

"Riehle. Here."

"Cordelia Summers?"

"Present."

"Eleanor Woods."

"Here."

"Doyle Zettler?"

"Yo."

"Er...is this it?" Morton questioned as he looked up from the role call list which had contained many names in which there were others who hadn't shown up to class.

"Yeah," came the African American girl, Chrys, who he had seen in the office that one day. In fact, all of them were there. "No one else comes, they're the Nicotin crew if you get my meaning," she stated before nodding her head towards the direction where there was the school forest which, if it was to be entered at this time, a large group of smokers would be found.

"Oh...okay," he commented, slightly dissappointed. This was going to be the longest hour because lunch was next, so he had to keep them in as long as required, and it was also his smallest group. "Well, where did you leave off?"

"We finished flag football unit last week. We're supposed to be doing...soccer, right?" Raven asked, looking around at the others and Taylor nodded in response.

"Yeah," he agreed. "Then cheerleading," he added as an after thought, grimacing as he himself wasn't a big fan of the sport along with many of the others.

"Cheerleading?" Morton asked skeptically. "So what do you do? Clap, stomp...yell?"

"No, according to the roster we're supposed to be doing stunting, too," Eleanor commented. She was the class assistant, so she was supposed to keep in check with everything. "That means mats and then a video to learn how."

"Oh...okay. Well, good, I guess. Atleast I don't have to teach you the stuff that I don't really know about it. So, now onto a decent sport. Soccer. Alright, captains of the teams. You and...umm...you," he said, pointing out to Cordelia and Kristen.

"I can't," Cordelia said, almost as if she regretted it. "I'm currently, well...short."

The girls all gave a sympathetic look while all the guys, including Morton, looked confused. He himself was thinking that she was on the rather tall side compared to the rest, but at the moment he didn't actually care. "Okay...then you," he said, pointing towards Victoria who hopped up from her place on the floor. After a short game of rock paper scissors, Kristen went first. "Eleanor," she said quickly, giving her friend a smile.

"Calvin," Victoria said quickly, knowing guys were usually taken quickly, so she'd rather have him on her team than on Kristen's. Also, they had always agreed that if they picked teams for things, they would go in alphabetical order to make it fair.

"Taylor," Kristen said, looking over everyone else quickly.

Not caring about quality of team at all, Victoria was quick to claim her friends with a smile on her face. "Chrys!"

"John."

"Raven! Hurry!" Victoria said, jumping excitedly.

"Doyle...uhhh, Mr. Shooter? There's an uneven number," Kristen pointed out, counting those on her team then theirs.

"It's alright, then. I'll play!" Cordelia said with a smile on her face, running up to her friends and she heard Kristen curse under her breath. Cordelia was the best soccer player on their team, and if she was on their team...

"Alright, excellent," Morton commented and set them up to play, waiting as he looked between them all for the hour to end as he decided to choose his first assignment.

That was when, with a gleeful smile, he recognized one of the girls. Raven. She had been that girl in room number seven, he was positive of it. A bright smile formed on his face from the prospect of being closer to his goal. She was his first target, and with her he could get to her friends. Piece of cake.

* * *

A/N: Alright, it took me FOREVER to add an update, but I figured that, hey, Christmas Break is here. So I made a chapter for each of my stories and I'm trying to keep updating in them all. I'm just sort of, well, fuzzy with Secret Window. I STILL haven't gotten the movie! Cries. Well, R/R! 


	7. Chapter 7

I'm curious. How many people want me to continue this story? I realize that I've disappeared for a while, but if you want me to continue, let me know and I will. Also, if you have read any of my other stories, don't bother checking. They all have the same message. Thanks to all my old reviewers, I may once again continue!


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